


A Danger Night

by Ragazza_Guasto



Series: Danger Night [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John, Drunk Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Sherlock Holmes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smoking, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/pseuds/Ragazza_Guasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John goes out to the bar after Sherlock drives him sufficiently mad with his nicotine cravings. When he comes home, Sherlock's need for satisfaction takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Danger Night

**Author's Note:**

> This little piece came to me right before I fell asleep. I'm not sure why it popped in there(smut fairy?) but I'm glad it did. I tagged it mildly dubious consent because neither explicitly vocalizes their consent and John is drunk. If that's not your cup of tea, I apologize for your missing this adorable story I just wrote. :p

Less then cocaine, greater than the need for food, the craving was sitting at the high end of intolerable. His legs twitched uncontrollably, his fingernails dug crescent shaped marks into his thighs in an attempt to steady them. Anger was the only thing keeping boredom at bay. 

The only reason he hadn't left the flat in search of some was John's parting decree. 

"So help me, Sherlock, if I come home and smell even a _hint_ of tobacco, I will have Mycroft declare them illegal." He slammed the door behind him.

He wasn't worried over the threat. It was a ridiculous one, as far as they went(tobacco was a billion quid a year business), no, what had him glued to the couch was the look on John's face. He frequently chose not to read human emotion, hampered his thought process, rendered one inefficient, but John he always read, even when he should be doing other things. The look said, _You've promised and lied so many times, I'm resigned to it now._

So now he was going to be good. He wanted to surprise John with how good he'd been in his absence, replace that look of resignation with pleasure, pride, amazement. All the lovely emotions John could display for him, Sherlock's personal favourites. 

He'd just had the brilliant idea to find a safety pin to jam into the webbing of his fingers when the front door opened. His ears strained but of course it was John. Who else would it be? It was one in the morning. He sat up straight, anticipatory of John's pleasure, when the door to the sitting room flew open harder than necessary and with it came the sharp smell of the bar John frequented around the corner.  The smell of other people's _eau du toillette_ , cheap beer and also...cigarettes. 

His eyes zeroed in on John like a predator spotting prey. John was futility attempting to remove his jacket while inebriated but Sherlock would have none of it. He had the smaller man pinned, his front to the wall, before John could utter a word. The rich, permeating smell still clung to the Haversack, even after John's walk home, and he bent low to pull it from the threads. He breathed it in deeply, over and over, until he was dizzy. It was mad but he could swear the buzzing of his blood, that painful sizzle in his limbs, abated. He rose and tried at John's hair, where scent frequently collected in greater concentration. 

 _Jackpot_ , he thought stupidly. The smell was divine, heavy, with notes of seven, possibly eight, different brands. His nose skimmed along John's neck, from his crown to his ear and back. He thought John's hair would be prickly. It wasn't, it was soft. Pleasant. 

"Bloody Hell, Sherlock. What are you doing?" John breathed. It was quiet, slurred but not so much that he was misunderstood.

"I was good, John. I didn't go out. I haven't smoked a one, I promise," he answered, still sniffing at John's neck. 

John maneuvered himself slowly until he faced forward. Sherlock frowned.

"What are you doing?" He reiterated. 

John's breath blew over his face and Sherlock felt like a twenty stone man had sucker punched him in the stomach. John's breath smelled of cigarettes. Sherlock wanted to assign anger to the feeling welling up in his guts, betrayal for John insistence that smoking would kill him, hypocrisy in light of this new evidence, but he feared it was a different emotion that set his organs to churning. Arousal. The smell of his current temptation coupled with the image of John's lips wrapped around the small cylindrical tube, the way he would drag off of it, the way the smoke would curl around him...

"Your breath. It smells like cigarettes. Why..." He did his best to not sound so, what was the word? Horny?

"There was a girl. Didn't know she smoked until it was too late," he explained with a hiccough. 

The anger Sherlock had anticipated arrived with a vengeance.  Later, if the situation turned bad, he would say his next decision was simply the need to consume every bit of nicotine contained inside John Watson's mouth, to help calm his suddenly jittery, feverish limbs. But very little digging on that theory and it would crumble like so must dust in the desert. No, even if he could glean any useful particles from the man, that wasn't the reason he aggressively tore into John's mouth with his own. He wanted to remove all traces of this mystery woman who had come before, to obliterate her taste from John's tongue and replace it with his own. Where the idea came from he wasn't sure but once it had started there was no stopping it. 

John stiffened at the intrusion at first but once first contact was made between their _muscular hydrostates_ ( _tongues you boffin bastard_ , John's voice muttered in his head) he let his guard down. Sherlock stopped attacking and started cataloging. _Genioglossus, Hyoglossus, Styloglossus, Palatoglossus_ muscles, taste of menthol, unknown brand, Foster's, and peanuts. Should have been disgusting but, it was John's mouth. He was inside John's mouth...

Thought fled after that significant notation because suddenly Sherlock wasn't cataloging, he was snogging. Actually, a more accurate statement would be to say John was snogging. He was kissing back, most assuredly. Before he knew what was going on Sherlock's house coat was on the floor and John was running both hands up his midsection, under his shirt, raising it higher and higher. Over his head it went and John went right back to touching his chest and molding their lips together. When Job  ran his calloused palms over Sherlock's suddenly sensitive nipples he involuntarily canted his hips forward. They both gasped to feel Sherlock's erection press into John's stomach.

"Holy Hell." John looked up. "Sherlock. You have a hard on."

He frowned. "Of course I do. What? Did you think I couldn't?"

John shook his head, mostly looking like he was cleaning out the Cobb webs. "No...I...Mmm," he moaned when Sherlock pressed harder into him.

Without another word, clearly impatient with the idea of trousers, even cotton ones(really there was no easier way to get at an erection other to have been naked), he dove into Sherlock's trousers until he could wrap his hand around the detective's length.

"John," he drawled, a whinge and a moan both. _Finally_ , he thought. But why? It wasn't like he had wanted this. Had he?  

"Oh, wow," John breathed as he stroked his rough hand up and down. With his free hand he tugged the bottoms down until Sherlock could quickly step out of them. 

"I think that was supposed to be my line," he mumbled absently. 

John gave a half hearted chuckle. "Christ, you're gorgeous. I have to, can I just?" 

Sherlock looked down, shocked as John fell to his knees before him. "Oh. I don't...I mean I've never," he stopped and licked his lips nervously, which John mirrored.

John's eyes glittered up at him. "I do and I have. Granted it's been a few years but they say it's like riding a bike." He giggled at his own joke. Sherlock knew John was still drunk. Should he stop this before it went too far and John came to regret it? Was this crossing a line? He wished he had never written these things off as useless knowledge. Before he could summon a proper answer to his own questions, John licked his lips again and wrapped them around the end of Sherlock's prick. 

"Ohhh," he breathed and his legs buckled. 

"Oh, no," John mumbled. "Okay, I've got you. Ease down, there you go." He helped Sherlock lay back against the floor. "All right?"

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair, unable to verbally answer, he nodded frantically. His mind was in overdrive. _OralstimulationhowdopeoplegetanythingelsedonestimulateuntilorgasmpeniletissuefillscollagenwithbloodengoredfleshfillingJohnsmouthgorgeousmouthbeautifuleyeslookingupatmecan'tthinkcanwedothisallthetimesowarmhowtoaskhimtocontinue..._

 "Shall we continue then?" John asked.

Sherlock looked up with eyes as big as saucers. "John, you're a genius."

He snorted at that and gave Sherlock a look he'd seen before. Where had he seen that look before? Oh yes. Last week. Sherlock had reached up into the cupboard for a measuring glass and accidentally pulled a bag of flour down on his head. John had walked in just as the particles had settled around him. That look. Amused, not jeering, happy but not laughing. 

"I'm not a genius. I've had a blow job before." 

Again, without hesitation he lowered his head until his lips closed around him and Sherlock called out, shocked anew at the sensation.

"Oh, it gets better," Sherlock announced to the ceiling.

John snorted, mouth still wrapped around him, silkily laving at the underside of his cock with his tongue. Sherlock tugged on his hair, unable to articulate the feeling welling up in him. He wasn't an idiot. Orgasm. He knew that was the point of the this particular experiment but he just couldn't fathom how to describe it to himself. 

"John," he whinged, writhing. "I can't stop."

John pulled off, though did continue to work him with his fist, long enough to say, "It's all right. I want you to." He didn't even wait for a response, he went back to it, faster, with more suction. 

There was no stopping it now. Heat rose up in him like a force unto itself, separate from himself, nowhere near in his control. Normally he couldn't abide these bodily functions, transport needs were dull, but this was different. It was wonderful. His body was so tense, waiting and waiting for the moment to brake, and then John did something with his tongue and it was over.

"John!" He shouted. He felt himself swell against John's tongue and then he emptied into his mouth. When John swallowed, he could feel it against his skin and it sent an extra few pulses oozing out. 

While he was busy twitching and panting on the floor, John raised up to lean over him. Sherlock watched in mute fascination as John pulled himself free from his trousers and proceeded to yank furiously on his(frankly stunning, if Sherlock did say so himself) engorged cock. He watched, wide-eyed and surprisingly elated by this turn of events; he never thought John would let him watch before. He wasn't supposed to know humans, especially John, did this particular act. He absently held a hand out to touch but John grunted.

"Too late. Sorry. Maybe later," he panted and then groaned loudly as he released his semen onto Sherlock's stomach. When he had rung the last from the tip he flopped down onto the floor beside Sherlock, still close, his breath hot on Sherlock's shoulder.  

Sherlock slid his finger tips across the still warm fluid on his skin.  "I should take the opportunity to study this under a microscope," he mused as he rubbed the fluid between his fingers. "Though I don't think I can stand just yet. Is that normal?"

He didn't answer Sherlock's question. "That's actually not the weirdest thing I've heard after jerking on someone," he mumbled sleepily. 

Sherlock saw red. "Who else are you jerking on?" He demanded.

"Currently? Just you." He moaned. "Did that really just happen?"

"Yes. Why, regretting it already? Don't worry, John, I'll accept that it was the alcohol and we'll leave it at that," he snapped and made to rise. He didn't know why he was suddenly so angry. 

 John grabbed hold of his wrist and stopped his progress. When Sherlock turned his head and made to glare at the man John motioned with his head to lay back down. When he hesitated John tugged on his wrist again.  

He complied. When his head hit the floor again he turned to look at John beside him. 

John blinked up and patiently asked, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"No," he snapped. 

John smiled. "I thought so. Would you like to do this again sometime? Perhaps when I'm not inebriated and we can slow it down a bit?"

He hesitated. John wanted to..."With me?" He asked.

"No, I'm talking to the coffee table. Of course with you."

Sexual experimentation with John..."You mean just this or other things?" 

John closed his eyes and wiggled closer. "Whatever you want. Whatever you're comfortable with."

He warmed as John snaked an arm around his chest and pulled him close. "Does this mean we're in a relationship now?"

"We've been in a relationship since day one, Sherlock. If I'm allowed to sleep with you now, that's just a bonus. Now shut up. I'm trying to sleep."

He smiled at John's demand. He would regret the decision to sleep on the floor come morning. As he stroked his newly minted lover's arm he hoped that was the only decision he regretted. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading everyone. Hope you liked it! Feedback is much appreciated.  
> Come find me on Tumblr at [artisanbloodbank](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/artisanbloodbank)


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